


the execution sound (the sound of prayer)

by badacts



Series: oh be cautious, do not stand too near [2]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: M/M, POV Andrew Minyard, The Raven King - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2018-12-08 10:51:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11645049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badacts/pseuds/badacts
Summary: Andrew has deals to keep, and Neil's obsessions aren't making his life any easier.A sequel to 'a freedom sound (do not cherish memory)'.





	1. pig

**Author's Note:**

> Title is, once again, from Bill Manhire's 'Hotel Emergencies'.
> 
> Each chapter will have specific warnings, but be aware this fic covers the events of The Raven King so encompasses all the content of that story.
> 
> Chapter warning: implication of childhood abuse, discussion of sexual abuse, discussion of drug use/psychiatric medication.

Wednesday afternoon meant Betsy. The Nicky who dropped him off was wan again with the prospect of practice later, mostly because it meant having to socialise with the upperclassmen after they’d been separated on Sunday.

Andrew’s knuckles were bruised, but he hadn’t started it, no matter what Matt claimed. Wymack, furious, had demanded to know why, and Andrew’s answer had been tapping his own curving, smiling mouth.

Apparently he hadn’t made a good enough show of grief. It was funny, considering that Dan and Matt and Renee didn’t care for Seth much either, but apparently hating him didn’t give Andrew an excuse to not pretend to be sad he was dead.

As he hopped out of the car at Reddin, he noticed that even it wasn’t immune to the decorations. Some especially stupid group of individuals had replaced all the streamers across campus with black rather than white, turning the place into an early Halloween party. It was hideous and pathetic, considering the miserable status of the Foxes as both a team and individuals.

The point was no one would really care if any of them died. If someone was trying to prove something with black streamers, then it wasn’t working on Andrew.

Betsy waved him straight in. “Hot chocolate?”

“Yes,” Andrew agreed, taking his usual seat. He folded a leg underneath himself, marking the chair with a smear of dirt. A small pointless rebellion, a waste of his time, but it still made him feel more in control.

Probably Betsy knew that was why he did it, though. She had once called his destructive tendencies ‘a way of marking the world up. Bruising it, shall we say’.

Betsy carefully spooned mix from the can into two mugs, not spilling even a dusting of powder. Once she was finished she put one on Andrew’s side of the desk and the other on hers before sitting. They ended up perfectly level with one another, to Andrew’s eye. He wasn’t sure whether that was intentional or accidental.

“How has your week been?” she asked, like she always did.

Andrew raised a hand, palm away, fingers spread, and then very exaggeratedly examined his nails. “Didn’t you hear? Someone died.”

“Would you like to talk about Seth?” she asked.

“No,” Andrew replied. “You can save that for Allison.”

“I don’t have a set number of people I can listen to on a topic, as you well know,” Betsy said, but didn’t press. “Would you like to talk about your fight with Matt instead?”

Andrew shrugged. “You are going to ask me about it anyway, but I appreciate the illusion of choice.”

“You’re in a recalcitrant mood today,” she said, instead of _I_ am _giving you a choice,_ which Andrew could read off of her face through practice.

“Will you put that in my file?”

“What makes you think I haven’t already?” She raised an eyebrow at him, and he shrugged again. “Why did you fight with Matt?”

“Because he hit me.”

If she expected that Andrew had been the one to start that fight, it didn’t show. “Why did he hit you?”

“You would have to ask him that.”

“I did,” Betsy replied.

“I didn’t think you were allowed to talk about your other clients.”

“I’m glad to see that your major is providing you with a vast range of knowledge on the legalities of the medical profession,” she said, “but I was merely going to tell you that I already heard Matt’s side of the story. It’s yours I’m interested in hearing.”

“It wasn’t very exciting. I didn’t provide a believable show of grieving a person I don’t care about. Matt found that offensive and hit me. I hit him back.”

“Alright,” Betsy said. “What do you mean, you didn’t provide a believable show?”

“I’m not a very good actor.”

“Honest people rarely are, I think. Did you want to? Make it believable, that is.”

“Why would I? As I said, I didn’t care about Seth. I didn’t like him while he was alive and I’m not inclined to like him any more now that he’s dead.”

“You don’t think the two of you are alike?”

“I am nothing like him.” Seth was an addict by choice, soft to a pretty girl, and a liar. Andrew was none of those things.

“Hm,” Betsy murmured, neither agreement nor disagreement, in a way she knew irritated him. “I meant more in terms of the other Foxes. You don’t feel it’s advantageous to care about the emotions of your teammates?”

“No,” Andrew replied. “They should be used to that by now.”

“It isn’t really something one gets used to.”

“Isn’t it?” Andrew asked, tilting his head. “It doesn’t matter anyway.” He touched his bottom lip with his index finger. “This gets in the way of that kind of thing.”

“You feel that you are unable to express your emotions normally,” Betsy said, more a statement of a remembered conversation they’ve had than anything else. It was her interpretation of Andrew saying _I’m not in control_.

“What does it matter?” Andrew asked. “I wouldn’t care about Seth even if I could.”

“I have told you before that I am willing to argue for a change to your medication. You know I don’t think it’s suitable for you.”

She probably would, too. The first time they met, she had looked at the collection of notes from his twelve precious psychiatrists, and then put them aside in favour of a pad of paper and a pen. Her willingness to do that with the things other people had said about him and diagnosed him with and sentenced, and make her own judgements instead, was one of the reasons he hadn’t driven her off. That, and the fact that she was surprisingly difficult to get rid of.

“And what, I suppose I’ll just skip the semester to undergo detox, yes? Kevin will be so pleased,” Andrew said.

“Arrangements can be made, for you and for Kevin if necessary,” Betsy said.

Andrew looked at her while he laughed. “It’s not the first time someone has offered to make arrangements for me.”

She looked back, level. “A bad choice of words, perhaps?”

“Perhaps.” That wasn’t an agreement, because it wasn’t a real trigger, but she wouldn’t use that phrase again, and that was the desired effect.

“Alright,” she said with a small nod. “Your health and happiness are more valuable than your commitments. I’m not happy with your medication, and though I can’t promise I can change your drug regime considering the circumstances, I can certainly promise to try.”

“So you’ve said.”

“Then you haven’t forgotten that I also said I’m willing to do so at any time,” she said. “You just need to say the word.”

“What word would that be?”

She knew about ‘please’, but it was still a little fun to test her. “It’s a figure of speech, Andrew.”

“Oh? You know I’m not an English major.”

She looked back at him, deadly serious. “Please tell me you understand what I’m saying?”

“Of course,” Andrew replied. “Just because I’m not an English major doesn’t mean I’m stupid.”

“No, you aren’t,” Betsy agreed. “Just remember that making it to the end of this last year isn’t a badge of honour. Stubbornness aside.”

“That isn’t what this is.” People like Andrew didn’t have goals that lofty. They just survived. ‘Winning’ wasn’t in his vocabulary, major jokes aside.

“I’m sorry. My mistake.” Betsy accepted easily.

“I don’t want your apology.”

“Well, as we’ve discussed, you don’t need to accept it,” she said. “Would you like to discuss your game this week?”

Andrew threw his head back exaggeratedly and groaned. “You too?”

 

* * *

 

None of the Foxes looked pleased to see them when Nicky and Andrew joined them in the foyer while they were stretching out, but Renee managed a small smile and a greeting.

“Hi Renee,” Andrew returned. “Are you moving back into the dorm yet?”

“Tonight,” she replied. “We packed Matt’s truck this morning.”

Useful. Andrew nodded and then went into the changing room, noting that Nicky hung back to make nice with the upperclassmen. He suspected it was a waste of time, but Nicky liked that sort of thing.

He heard the phone ring in Wymack’s office, and a subdued Nicky followed into the locker room straight after. He edged Andrew a look but didn’t say anything at all.

Andrew had just finished pulling on his uniform shirt when the door smashed open and Wymack bawled, “Andrew Joseph Minyard, what the flying fuck have you done this time?”

“It wasn’t me, it was the one-armed man!” Andrew called back.

“Get out here!” The door smacked closed, and Andrew shoved it open a moment later. Wymack gestured at him with the phone, sharp. “The police are on the phone for you. You’d better come clean with me before I get the unabridged version from them.”

Andrew didn’t have anything to say, without or without a lawyer present, unless Wymack counted underage drinking, drug use and dangerous driving, and Andrew knew he didn’t. “It wasn’t me. Ask my doppelganger?”

The look Wymack turned on him was black. Clearly normal-twin, nice-guy, doctor-wannabe Aaron didn’t get the same level of suspicion as Andrew did.

Wymack clicked at the phone to unmute it, and said, “What seems to be the problem, Officer…Higgins, you said?”

_Oh._ “Oh. No, Coach.”

Wymack waved him quiet, but Andrew reached up and ripped the phone from his hand. While he stared at it, Wymack curled fingers in his shirt as a restraint, but Andrew made no move to leave anyway.

Wymack said, “Don’t make him wait all day.” He sounded both impatient and his usual brand of gruffly concerned.

Andrew looked to Aaron, and found him staring back, blank and a little pale. Andrew shrugged, hands thrown out, and then lifted the phone to his face. “Pig Higgins, is that you?”

“Hello, Andrew,” Higgins replied.

“Oh, it is,” Andrew said.

“You sound surprised to hear from me.”

“Yes, I’m surprised. Did you forget I don’t like surprises?”

“How have you been?” Higgins sounded exactly like Andrew remembered – bland tenor voice, overly interested in things that were none of his business.

“What?” Andrew replied, as though this man asking that was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard.

“I asked-”

“No, don’t stall. You wouldn’t hunt me down after all this time just to chat, so what do you want?” Everyone always wanted something.

“I want to ask you about-”

“No,” Andrew said, and hung up. The phone started ringing again instantaneously, vibrating in his hand. He jerked himself out of Wymack’s hold and put the wall against his back. Aaron was still looking, cautious, as Andrew answered a second time.

“Andrew, don’t hang up on me,” Higgins remonstrated. He hadn’t spoken to Andrew since before the drugs, but he’d always believed in tough love and a little dose of discipline.

That’s why he and Drake had gotten on so well. A cop and a future Marine – match made in heaven.

“What?” Andrew said. “No, I didn’t hang up on you. I wouldn’t do that. I-”

“I need to ask you-”

“No. Shut up.”

He was persistent, Andrew would give him that. The phone rang again, once, twice, thrice, four, five, like a needle in his ear, and then Andrew answered it a third time. “Talk to me.”

“Thank you,” the pig said, gracious as ever. “I’m looking into a complaint regarding the Spear household. The information I have to go on is pretty circumstantial and I want to ensure there’s something worth looking for before I stir up trouble. There are no medical records to find, no neighbourly gossip, nothing like that, but…the complaint is regarding an instance of sexual assault. They wouldn’t give a name of their assailant, and wouldn’t even really confirm that that was the nature of what happened, but…that was the gist of it.”

It was sounding more and more like this phone call was a fishing expedition. Andrew was tapping his foot, mouth flattened, and looked at the ceiling rather than his brother’s face. He knew there was nothing to read off of it, but he didn’t want to hear any guesses later.

“Go back,” Andrew said. “Who complained?” After all, it wasn’t him. He should have been the only-

“You know I can’t disclose that kind of detail in an active investigation.”

This wasn’t an active investigation, it was a few pointed questions aimed at someone Higgins thought he might be able to wheedle some information from. “Oh, Pig, don’t give me the runaround. I know where you work, you see. I know who you work with.” All those little children in need of a guiding hand, a mentor, a _brother_. “That means there’s a child in her house. She isn’t supposed-”

“Andrew, if you know something-”

“What? No,” Andrew cut him off. “Don’t ask me that.”

“If something happened to you in that house-”

“I said don’t. Leave me alone.”

“Andrew-”

Fuck, they never learned the meaning of the word ‘no’, did they? “Hey. Call me again and I’ll kill you.”

He hung up. There was no trace of humour in the clicking, buzzing black hole of his brain, his meds cut through to the quick, but it didn’t last because it never did. A moment later, he was laughing.

“What’s so funny? What did I miss?” Nicky asked as the changing room door clattered shut behind him.

“Oh, nothing,” Andrew told him, voice bubbling in his throat. “No worries.”

“Now what have you done?” Wymack asked, tone foreboding.

Andrew peered between the fingers of the hand he had thrown over his eyes. “What makes you think this is my fault?”

“I hope that’s a rhetorical question,” Wymack replied. “Why is the Oakland PD calling you?”

“The pig and I go way back. He just wanted to catch up.”

“You lie to my face one more time and we’re going to have a problem.”

“It was mostly the truth.” Andrew tossed the phone underhand across the room so it bounced off the floor in pieces. It didn’t look permanent though. Funny. “He worked with the Oakland PAL program. Thought he could save at-risk kids by teaching them sports after school. Kind of like you, yes? Idealistic to the core.”

Except Wymack was like Andrew, and Higgins was from a nice, suburban background with parents who loved him and who had grown up with a nice, big, bleeding heart and absolutely no understanding of how the kids he wanted to save worked.

“You left Oakland three years ago,” Wymack said.

“Yes, yes, I’m so flattered he remembers me, or something.” Andrew waved a dismissive hand and turned for the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Wymack put at an arm to stop him. “Where are you going?”

“I’m leaving.” Andrew pointed at the exit. “Didn’t I say I’ll see you tomorrow? Maybe I mumbled.”

“We’ve got practice. We have a game on Friday,” Dan pointed out. Clever, observant girl.

“You have Joan of Exy over there. Make do without me,” Andrew suggested cheerfully.

“Cut the shit, Andrew. What is really going on here?” Wymack demanded.

Andrew pressed the back of a hand to his forehead, like a proper fainting maiden. “I think I’m coming down with something. Cough, cough. Best I leave before I infect your team. There’s so few of them left. You can stand to lose anyone else.”

“Knock it off,” Kevin snapped from behind him. Maybe he had dredged up a taste of tact regarding Seth after all. It was more likely that he was worried Andrew was going to cause an insurrection, though. “You can’t leave.”

Oh, he was so very stupid to think that he was in charge here. Andrew turned on him, grinning hard enough he swore he tasted blood. “I can’t, Kevin? I’ll show you what I can’t do. Try and put me on your court today and I’ll take myself off it permanently. Fuck your practice, your line-up, and your stupid fucking game.”

_Oh, hello there_. Andrew wasn’t meant to be able to get angry anymore, but he could taste it like pennies on his tongue. His temper was so very, very dangerous. He was a bomb just waiting to go off, suicide and all that accompanying nasty collateral damage.

Without his medication, he wouldn’t just bruise the world. He might level it.

“That’s enough,” Kevin said, mouth pulled thin. “We don’t have time for your tantrums.”

His tantrums. Andrew would-

-put his fist through the fucking wall. The first hit split the skin over his knuckles, fire-burst hot with something that might have turned into pain. Kevin came closer – too close - with a hand outstretched to stop him. Wymack was the one to grab him by the wrist and jerk him away, though. Andrew didn’t look from Kevin’s wide eyes, his aching hand held up between them like a promise.

_I’ll burn it all to the ground._

Kevin stepped back. As soon as he was far enough away, Andrew wriggled out of Wymack’s grasp.

“Cough, cough, Coach,” he said. “I’m leaving now.”

“Coach, let him go. Please.” And that was Aaron! Interesting that he could speak up now, so very interesting.

Wymack looked between the two of them, but finally dropped his arm. “You and I are going to have a very long talk later, Andrew.”

“Sure,” Andrew lied, and then left.


	2. warnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warning for discussion of suicide.

The walk back to the Tower didn’t do much for him. Andrew didn’t expect it to, not really, because he’d set the fuse on the violence in him and it never burned down that easily.

On the upside, by the time he’d made it back there was less time for him to wait. Kevin and the others made it back first, pulling in at the back of the lot. They paused when they saw Andrew watching from the spot he’d chosen on the curb.

“You shouldn’t be outside if you’re coming down with something,” Kevin said, tone chilly.

Andrew grinned back at him. “Such concern. Don’t cry, Kevin. It’s nothing a nap and some vitamin C can’t fix.”

Nicky crouched down, looking Andrew over like he expected blood. “Hey. You good?”

“You ask strange questions, Nicky,” Andrew replied.

“I’m concerned, is all.”

“Sounds like your problem.” There was the familiar sound of Matt’s truck pulling into the lot. “Oh, there we go, finally.”

Andrew waved Nicky out of his space and out of the way as the three remaining upperclassmen drew closer. Then he waved, a little jaunty.

“Renee, you made it!” he said. “Welcome back. I’m borrowing you. You don’t mind, do you? I knew you wouldn’t.”

Renee didn’t pause before nodding. “Do I need anything?”

“I’ve already got it,” Andrew replied, pushing up to his feet and leading the way across the lot. Renee caught him up before he’d gone far, falling in at his side.

She didn’t speak on the way, settled in the silence. It wasn’t until they’d reached their destination that she looked him in the eye and said, “Do I need to strap up?”

“Don’t be boring,” Andrew told her, and slipped one of the knives from the inside of his wrist. Her attention went to it immediately, though not out of fear. It was always smart to keep your eyes on the prize.

“Will you give me one?” she asked.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” Andrew said, and moved.

One of the first things Renee had taught him about pulling a knife in a fight was, _don’t do it unless you’re prepared to kill someone._ The same could be said of throwing a punch, too – it only took one – but a knife was a more immediate kind of danger. There were all kinds of things you could do with one, ranging from ‘debilitating’ to ‘fatal’.

Because Andrew didn’t actually want to kill Renee, he hit her with his left hand, the one she wasn’t watching. It landed, forcing her back as she tried to get inside of his guard. She was fast, but he was faster. He could use the knife like a very dangerous extension of his reach to keep her from landing hits on his body.

He was stronger and while medicated he was faster, too, but he didn’t have Renee’s skill. That meant she had possession of one knife within ten minutes, her grip easy and all control. That she let Andrew keep his going forwards was probably kindness on her part.

It would have been stupid to hate Renee for being better than him, even now. Andrew wasn’t stupid.

He let the half-familiar pattern of exertion - the rhythm of _don’t-get-killed_ that echoed in his head even though this wasn’t the real deal and they weren’t really fighting to the death - take over. His rebel brain and even more rebellious body liked mindless exertion now in a way he didn’t sober. Even the bruises brought him down. Especially the bruises, as well as the thin line that Renee drew on his bare upper arm that beaded red.

“You’re slowing down,” Renee observed eventually. Her forehead was beaded with sweat and she was moving even more slowly than him, though still inexorably. Andrew wasn’t sure how long they’d been going, but the knives had been thrown aside in favour of skin to skin. “Break?”

“No,” Andrew replied.

In a whip-quick motion, she reached out, grabbed his wrist in one hand, and flipped him onto his back on the floor. “Break?”

Andrew, who had lost what felt like every bit of oxygen in his lungs, gasped and coughed. When he could breathe without his chest compressing on itself he raised an arm and then let it fall, a concession. Renee, for all her smiles and sweetness, knew how to make a point.

She lowered herself gingerly onto the floor beside him but out of reach, examining her right fist. It matched his now, bruised and split-skinned from where he’d punched the wall earlier. She said, “Will you let me check your arm?”

“Worried you did permanent damage?” Andrew asked. His voice was a rasp. “Don’t worry. I’m sure I won’t even miss another practice. Pity.”

Renee hummed. “Kevin will be pleased.”

Andrew made a noise that very accurately covered his thoughts on the topic of Kevin in general. With the adrenaline easing down already, the high was taking over again, and there was no chance Andrew could keep a grudge like that. Right now he just felt a vague edge of annoyance, but mostly amusement at the expression Kevin had worn when Andrew moved to follow through on his threat.

“Coach doesn’t know whether Allison will play this week,” Renee said. “I don’t think she knows yet either.”

“She probably will,” Andrew replied. “She’s just like the rest of you. Obsessed.”

“The man she was in love with just died.”

Andrew shrugged, shoulder blades scratching against the carpet through his shirt. “Tell someone who cares.”

“We’ll be down to two strikers and one dealer,” Renee said.

“Again, tell someone who cares.”

“Coach asked me if I would play as sub for Allison, if she gets back on the court.”

Andrew tilted his head to look at her, and laughed at the expression on her face. “Oh, is that what this is about?”

“I don’t want you to be surprised if it happens. I said yes. Dan needs a sub, at the very least.”

“I have stopped being surprised by the ridiculous things this team comes up with a long time ago.”

“If you need me to play second half, I will. Coach will have to think of something else.”

“I don’t need anything,” Andrew told her. He didn’t need to say _there isn’t anything_ else. He was curious what spin Wymack would put on it, though. He tapped a finger to his temple. “Allison will play. You can do what you like.”

Renee shot him a level look. “Allison is in a bad way.”

Andrew hummed and then pushed himself up, onto his ass and then his feet. He went for the knives and tucked them away in their rightful places. His body would hurt in the morning, before he dosed up.

“I guess we’ll see,” he replied, and then left before she could ask.

 

* * *

 

He went to Abby’s house – walked, because he wasn’t about to ask for a ride. He doubted even Renee would give him one.

The door, as always, was unlocked. He could hear the soft sound of Abby humming to herself in the kitchen as he bypassed it and slipped upstairs. All of the doors were open bar one, and Andrew went straight for the closed one.

He closed it behind him. Allison, who was sitting on the bed crossways, her back to the wall, looked back at him.

“All dressed up with nowhere to go,” Andrew observed. Even in her grief, there wasn’t a hair out of place.

“What the fuck do you want,” she said, voice dull, no uptick of a question in her tone at all.

“Just to talk,” Andrew told her.

There was a shift in her expression. “Planning your own overdose? I warn you, I’m not an expert.”

“Ah, Seth,” Andrew said, feeling his smile twitch bigger at her little attempt at poison. “That’s the topic, yes. I’ll skip the advice though.”

Another shift, that time with something behind it. That looked like anger, or perhaps the precursor to it. Or maybe just violence, the purposeless kind. “Get to the fucking point, Minyard.”

“I saw you check his pockets,” Andrew murmured, like it was a secret. “He wasn’t carrying anything to overdose on. Or maybe you missed something. Is that what you’ve been telling yourself?”

Allison stared back at him, and her silence was itself an answer.

“I don’t think that was your mistake,” he said, faux-soothing.

“What,” she said. Again, it’s not a question.

“I think you shouldn’t have gone out where people could get at you,” Andrew told her. Kevin had warned them. “You know, wolves can always pick out the weakest animal in the herd. A little bit slow, a little bit tired, a little bit…dependant. In this case, Seth was that animal. And I’m sure even you can guess who the king of the wolves is.”

She said, “You can’t be goddamn serious.”

“I’m not a liar, princess. You were warned. You really should have listened.”

Allison pushed herself to the edge of the bed and stood abruptly. There was still plenty of space between them, but there was something in her stance that says she was waiting for a reason to move. Her shoulders were tight. Andrew had gotten into brawls with people with that exact posture, that same patient tension.

“You’re wrong,” she said thinly, a pale attempt at denial.

“No I’m not,” Andrew replied. “I don’t have proof. But I don’t need it. Do I?”

There was conflict in her, but realisation too. Her eyes, filling, spilled over. Andrew doubted she even noticed.

“I’ll kill him,” she said.

“Careful, careful,” Andrew cautioned her. “You might try, but you’re too pretty to make a martyr of yourself.”

‘Pretty’ sounded ugly in his mouth, and she heard it that way. Her dull focus sharpened onto him, turning her from a girl into a bomb waiting to go off. She moved. Andrew didn’t.

She put her hand to the door he was leaning on, boxing him in. He let her. Height difference aside, it would have been a simple matter to physically break her. A fighter she might be, but Allison couldn’t do what he could.

“Riko Moriyama doesn’t care about death threats,” he told her. “He cares about winning. Seth made it very easy for him to win. Are you going to do the same?”

“I’ve never made anything easy,” Allison replied. That, Andrew would have guessed, was the truth. She didn’t seem the type. “You brought him here.”

“Oh, blaming me?” Andrew grinned. “Interesting, interesting. I’m not sure if you mean Kevin or Riko, but I can assure you I had nothing to do with either before they turned up here.”

She said, again, “What do you want?” This time there was an uptick that made this an honest question, and a suggestion that he should pick his answer before she tried to break his face.

“I don’t want anything. This is about you, remember? Pretty pampered princess in pink, all too willing to break a nail – and goodness, you look a little broken now. So, are you going to let Riko win?”

She spat in his face. It impacted his cheek, slid down, and he wiped it off with the fabric of his armband without breaking her gaze. There was a long drawn out moment where he waited for her to move, and she waited for him to hit her. There was familiarity there, if Andrew cared to look for it. He knew what it was to want the physical sting over the psychological ache.

Allison didn’t know that. She just thought, like they all do, that Andrew could be provoked so easily, and that he was the one to deal out pain if that was what you were looking for.

After a moment, he laughed. “I won’t hurt you when I know that’s what you want, Reynolds. You’ll have to ask offence to do that for you.”

“Like you even care,” she snarled.

“Nope,” he replied, popping the ‘p’. “But you do. Right?”

She pulled her palm from the door, stepping back and half turning away. Her fingers drifted to her face. “Get the fuck out of my sight.”

“With pleasure,” Andrew replied. “See you Friday, if you make it there.”

By that point, she might have put enough together to realise whose big mouth really caused this. That would make things intolerable for Neil, but interesting for Andrew. He saluted Allison, was ignored, and then left.

 

* * *

 

Friday was their second game of the season and their first away game. That meant Wymack signed them out of their late morning and afternoon classes. Andrew, who didn’t have an early morning class on Fridays, slept in and met the others at the car to drive over to the court.

Abby’s car was in the lot. Andrew noticed Neil noticing it beside him, his shoulder tensing where it was pressed against Andrew’s in the backseat.

“She made it,” Andrew observed. “This should be interesting.”

“For you, perhaps,” Nicky said as he turned the car off, his voice heavy.

“Yes, for me,” Andrew told him, climbing out of the car. Neil followed him out of his door but paused with his hand curved around the top of it, looking at the Foxes’ hideous orange bus. Andrew watched him drag his feet, smiling.

Neil looked at him, took in the smile, and then slammed the door. Apparently he, like Allison, didn’t like to be provoked into action, but it worked better for it – he pushed away to the gate, opening the door. Andrew followed, with Kevin at his heels.

In the locker room, their wounded Fox was waiting for them. She was perfectly dressed, as ever, but there was no trace of the anger Andrew had seen in her the other day. Maybe it had only been enough to get her here. Maybe it would make a reappearance when she walked on the court tonight.

Andrew went straight to his spot on the couch, ignoring the others when they paused. Or froze, more accurately. Unsurprisingly, Nicky was the only one brave enough to step up to Allison’s side and put himself below her in a crouch.

“Hey,” he said, soft. “Is there anything we can do?”

Nicky didn’t like Allison much, and had hated Seth for his homophobia and generally terrible attitude, but he still had a heart. He waited through Allison’s silence, unconcerned – probably at this point he was used to it.

When Allison moved, though, it wasn’t to answer. It was to look directly at Neil, still as stone.

The others probably saw a plastic doll of a girl, with nothing inside of it. No grief, no fight, no blame – even though Neil’s face said he was waiting for that last.

Andrew didn’t see that. People didn’t need emotion like people claimed to keep living. They just needed a purpose. Allison had one.

The others arrived then, the girls taking places on either side of Allison to shore her up. Nicky, unneeded, backed off, and the others finally broke out of their stupor to take their normal places and settle in.

Wymack was late, and he looked to Allison first when he came in. “Go ahead of us, Allison. Nicky will load your things.”

Nicky made a face but no protest as Allison left without a look back. It wasn’t until the door closed that he said, “Seriously, whose idea was it to bring her along? She shouldn’t be here.”

“We gave her the choice to sit out,” Wymack replied, crossing his arms. “She wanted to come.”

“I wouldn’t have asked her,” Nicky said. “I would have just left her behind and apologised later. She isn’t ready.”

“So little faith, Nicky,” Andrew said, on a laugh. “Don’t worry. She’ll play.”

Everyone stared at him for that, blank-faced where they weren’t suspicious. Really, they should have been thanking him. Andrew gestured at Kevin and Neil at his sides. “Really, you should be more worried about these two lunatics.”

“That’s what I want to talk about,” Wymack cut in. “Dan and I spent this week figuring out the best way to deal with the striker line. You know I can’t get us a sub yet. Kevin’s played full halves before, but not since last fall. I don’t think you’ve ever tried,” this to Neil, who shook his head, “Neither one of you can play an entire game in the state you’re in now. We’ll have to work you up to that one week at a time.

“In the meantime, we’re mixing things up to stay afloat. Our solution isn’t pretty, but it’s the best we can come up with on such short notice, so pay attention.”

He picked up his clipboard off the entertainment centre, flipping a few pages. “The starting line-up for tonight’s first half goes as follows: Andrew, Matt, Nicky, Allison, Kevin, Neil. First half subs: Aaron for Nicky, Dan for Kevin, Renee for Allison.”

“Wait. What?” Nicky said, looking to Renee with wide eyes.

Wymack cut him off. “Second half line-up: Aaron, Nicky, Alison, Kevin, Dan. Matt’s on for Nicky, Neil’s on for Dan, and Renee’s on for Allison again. Tell me you got that, because I’m not repeating it.”

“Is that a joke, Coach?” Nicky said what the others were all thinking. “Renee’s a goalkeeper.”

“Dan’s the only one who can fill on for the striker line,” Renee supplied calmly, “and Allison is going to be touch and go for a while. Coach and I talked about it on Tuesday, so I’ve had some time to modify our extra gear. I know I haven’t played defence since middle school, but I’ll give it my best shot.”

“Please don’t take this the wrong way, but it’s not you I’m worried about. If you’re going to play dealer who do we have in goal second half?” Nicky demanded.

Wymack looked to Andrew then. Andrew looked behind himself – no, no surprise additional goalkeeper to be found – and turn back to raise an eyebrow at their coach, dragging fingers over his smile. “Coach knows my medicine doesn’t work that way.”

“I know,” Wymack said. There was weight in his voice. _I know._

“What are you telling me to do?” Andrew asked, as a test, purely out of interest.

“I’m not telling you anything,” Wymack replied. “We had a deal and I’m not about to renege on that.”

Interesting. Or infuriating, maybe. It was always hard to tell.

“I’m offering a trade, same terms and conditions as last year. Abby picked the bottle up yesterday and put it in the first aid kit. It’s yours as soon as you walk off the court. All you have to do is play. How you play is up to you.”

Andrew tapped his chin like he was thinking it over. “They won’t be ready in a week. How long do you think you can keep this up?”

“As long as you can,” Wymack replied. “So can you hold the line or can’t you?”

Not a dare, or not the conventional kind. Maybe that was why Andrew didn’t say no. Probably not, though.

He laughed, broad. “I guess we’ll find out.”

Wymack nodded firmly before looking back to the others. “Anyone else have questions?”

“Coach, this line-up is insane,” Nicky insisted.

“Yup,” Wymack said. “Good luck.”

He clapped his hands briskly to halt any further protests. “Let’s move. Get your gear and get out of my locker room. Dan, Renee, if you can sort Allison’s things out Nicky will take them out to the bus. Matt, you’re helping me with the stick rack. I’m starting the bus in ten minutes. If you’re not on it you’re not coming with us. Go, go, go.”

The team split, going into their separate changing rooms. Wymack had already come in to deliver their travel bags. Andrew collected his and went to his locker, opened it, and then slammed it shut again impatiently.

After the second time, Kevin stopped him, frowning. Better to get it out of the way now, Andrew thought as he dropped gear onto the floor.

“What is going on?” Kevin demanded. “You can’t last a full game without your medicine.”

He was only saying what the others were thinking. Probably they wanted to assume Andrew would take his medicine at half time and then play anyway. They didn’t realise that that was impossible.

“No, probably not,” Andrew replied, crouching to sift through his pile of gear. “We’ll figure something out.”

“He’s done it once before,” Matt said.

“Yeah, last October.” Nicky provided, presumably for Neil’s benefit. Andrew didn’t have to look at him to know he was smiling. “We found out the ERC was going to cut us from the Class I ranks if we didn’t stop losing. Coach asked Andrew for a miracle, and Andrew gave us one. He made Coach come up with a number between one and five, and that’s how many points he let the other team get before he shut them out. It was probably the most badass thing I’ve ever seen.”

Andrew didn’t believe in miracles. That wasn’t what he provided. Kevin, who recognised that, didn’t look at all relieved by what Nicky was saying.

“So you’ll try,” he said, through his teeth, “because Coach asked you to.”

Andrew tilted his head back to smile up at Kevin. “Careful, Kevin. Your jealous streak is showing.”

“For eight months you’ve told me no. In eight seconds you told him yes. Why?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” Andrew replied, zipping his bag closed on the last of his things and standing up so close in Kevin’s space he nearly, but not quite, stepped back. “It’s just more fun to tell you no. That’s what you wanted, right? You wanted me to have fun. I am. Aren’t you?”

Kevin, who despite his choice of sport was about as naturally inclined towards violence as Nicky, was terrible amusing when he shoved Andrew. More amusing still was the flinch backwards he made when Andrew traced a delicate knick over his chest with the knife he’d palmed as he spoke to Kevin.

Ah, predictability. Kevin backed away, a curse virulent and useless in his mouth.

“Jesus, Andrew!” Matt said. “Kevin, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Kevin replied, touching his fingers to the slash in his shirt where blooding was colouring up the fabric bright, bright red, like he thought Andrew might have gutted him.

Andrew stepped closer, putting the knife tip right to the particular space in Kevin’s ribcage where a dedicated person could put the blade right through the left ventricle of his heart. When he met Kevin’s eyes, there was more anger than fear, and he didn’t look away even as he waved Matt away from interfering.

“Kevin, Kevin,” Andrew said. “So predictable. So pathetic. How about a tip? A reward for all your hard work, or something. Ready? You’ll start having more success when you ask for things you can actually have.”

“I can have this,” Kevin said, all frustration. “You’re just being stupid.”

Maybe he was right. Maybe Andrew was stupid – he probably was, to have gotten into this deal in the first place. On the other hand, it was a win-win situation. Andrew got what Kevin had promised him, or he was right.

That didn’t mean Andrew wouldn’t fight him on it, though. Kevin really should have expected that by now.

“I guess we’ll see,” Andrew replied, stepping around Kevin with his bag on his shoulder, wiping the red-stained blade of the knife clean before returning it to its sheath. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you!”


	3. sob story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been....so long, but this chapter is extra super long to make up for it, AND it's several of my favourite scenes in the entire series!! ENJOY

When they lined up at the door of Belmonte’s court, it was more than obvious that Neil was uncomfortable with Allison at his back.

“How long do you think you can keep that up?” Andrew asked from the back of the line, his voice bubbling with sharp humour.

Neil’s voice was the opposite when he replied, stonily, “Can you crash already?”

“All in good time.” Andrew was as predictable as the march onwards of time in that respect. He’d taken his last dose just before walking out of the locker room, and he was already on a countdown.

They walked down a tunnel to the court, the crowd a rumble over their heads. The sound rose to a roar when the first Foxes came out into the light.

The stadium was filling with green, orange a rarity off of their home ground. Andrew came to a halt with the stick rack, nearly tripping Nicky who was at the other end. This went entirely ignored as Dan dragged the rack up the line and locked it in position. Predictably, Kevin pulled one of his free before she’d even had time to open all of the tops. Like a security blanket.

Neil, racquet in hand, joined Kevin like a little shadow. Andrew turned away, finding Renee at his side with her incautiously concerned eyes. She smiled anyway, saying, “Are you going to wish me luck?”

“That won’t help you,” Andrew replied. “I hope you’ve been practicing.”

“I suppose you wouldn’t count visualisation.”

“Is that what we’re calling flashbacks these days?”

“My memories of playing as a backliner aren’t that bad, Andrew.”

“Can you say the same for your memories of losing?” He smiled, hard-edged.

She just hummed. “I don’t think we’re going to lose.”

“Cute,” Andrew told her just as Wymack called them in.

Amongst the haze of green, a line of orange shuffled along down the benches. Nicky’s arm jerked in the air and he yelled, “Hi Katelyn!”

The girl smiled and waved back, of course. Nicky turned his grin on an unsuspecting Neil and said, “Katelyn is Aaron’s girlfriend.”

“She is not,” Aaron snapped, scowling. “Knock it off.”

“She would be if you’d just ask her out,” Boyd suggested, probably imagining himself helpful. “What’s the hold up?”

That was the common consensus of all of the Foxes, of course. They just couldn’t work Aaron out. Andrew slapped his hands together with an, “oh,” turn a sharp smile on Matt. He stuck to German as he said, “Maybe he’s afraid she’ll die on him like the last woman he really loved.”

Aim, and a hit. Aaron shot him a look that could have frozen his blood. “Fuck you.”

“Christ, Andrew,” Nicky admonished, or tried to.

“I’m going to guess that was completely inappropriate,” Matt said, looking between them as he tried to gauge their reactions. “Do I want to know?”

“Do you think we want to tell you?” Andrew asked him, faux-sweet.

“Stow that,” Wymack cut them off. “Last I checked this was a team meeting, not a gossip circle. We’re on the court for warm-ups in ten. Dan’s going to start you off with some laps. If any of you so much as look at the Terrapins on your way past their benches I’ll let you walk home from here. Good? Then get going.”

Out on the court Dan led them, Matt alongside her. Kevin fell in beside Andrew and said, “Save your energy.”

He was curt, but apparently he was putting a potential win ahead of his foul mood with Andrew. How conscientious of him.

“Why thank you for your permission,” Andrew said, and swerved to the side so Neil could pass him from behind. Kevin stuck with Neil, letting Andrew drag along at the back in a lazy jog. Neil tried to look back at Andrew, but Kevin snapped something at him and he fell back in to line, predictably.

After two laps and fifteen minutes of drills, the rest of the team was pulled off while Dan stayed on. She won them first serve, leaving the Terrapins their home goal.

Andrew came on last, racquet swung over his shoulders. He detoured alongside Allison, who didn’t look at him.

“Going to let them break your face?” he asked. Allison said nothing, but Andrew heard her weight shift as he continued to the goal.

She took the ball from the referee, balancing it in her hand as the officials all filed off of the court and locked the doors. Then the buzzer went, and Foxes and Terrapins alike made the sudden change from tense statue to movement.

All bar Allison, who paused for a second, and Andrew, whose racquet was already raised. It was the work of nothing to fire the ball away down the court when Allison spun and served it straight to him.

It was Exy. Andrew could have invented some nice metaphors in the time he spent smacking balls away from his goal, but he wasn’t really the metaphor type.

The Foxes ended the half at four-four. At that point, Andrew filed off of the court after the others. _All in good time_ , that had been what he said to Neil. Well, the good times were done now. He stripped off his helmet and gloves in the locker room and let them clatter to the bench at his side. The others were chatting around him while they stretched, but he felt like he’d brought the court with him – or at least the plexiglass box.

“Stop it.” That voice cut through. It was hard to be as irritating as Kevin, but Neil Josten managed it.

Andrew looked at him flatly. His voice echoed in his head as he said, “I’m not doing anything.”

Neil’s mouth pursed with frustration, but he didn’t reply. Over his shoulder, Kevin was glaring at Andrew. After a moment Neil shook his head and turned away.

Wymack appeared then and said…something. Andrew couldn’t have repeated it for love nor money, and he was only interested in one of those two things anyway. He tuned in when Wymack said his name, upended like a question.

“Present,” Andrew replied, and Wymack left him alone after that. Everyone did, besides Abby who held out a cup of water for him to take. She conscientiously didn’t offer him any of the sports drink, predicting probably correctly that there was a chance the fake taste of it would make him vomit sooner rather than later.

Eventually they got to retake their court. This time the Terrapins had serve, and their dealer attempted aggression by throwing the ball straight up the court. Allison stepped aside, casual and careless. Andrew, who saw the trajectory of the ball before it had left the dealer’s racquet, watched as the ball missed his goal line by perhaps an inch.

Outside, the crowd screamed. Apparently they didn’t appreciate a little mocking.

Andrew popped the ball to bounce it and then smacked it back down the court. Allison watched it pass her by, but the second the dealer caught it she smashed into him and took it. A second later it was in Dan’s racquet at the other end of the court.

The sole highlight of the second half was Renee incapacitating a Terrapin with a swift kick to the back of the knee, dropping him. Andrew, who had been the recipient of the same move before, smiled humourlessly at the sight.

Everyone on the court stank of desperation, and it got worse when Kevin put the Foxes ahead right before the final buzzer. Andrew was painfully unsurprised when a Terrapin striker broke for him, looking to send both teams to overtime.

It was easy to be removed, most of the time. But in that moment he was more aware of his body than he ever was, every inch of him aching and itching for a fight. None of him – bones, organs, skin, all the strange little attaching parts – wanted to move. But that was a fight, too.

He knew where the striker was going to aim probably before they did. _Bottom left corner._ Just like that, he hit the floor on a knee and his racquet did the same so hard it broke, and the ball bounced off of it.

He scrabbled for the ball like someone with no dignity, which was apt. Over his head, Aaron took out the striker who was heading straight for him, and Andrew caught the ball and threw it aside.

Denied. The final buzzer blared through the court.

That might have been satisfaction on his tongue, or it might have been blood. It didn’t really matter. He was on his ass and he couldn’t feel his feet. What he could feel was his stomach, violently cramping.

Then Kevin was there, crouching in front of him at a safe distance. He reached for Andrew’s racquet and Andrew let him, making a useless gesture that Kevin copied. All Andrew could hear was his breath echoing in his helmet. Deeply unpleasant.

Kevin turned his racquet, showing where it had cracked from the base right down the handle. Over their heads, someone – Neil, of course he couldn’t resist spectating – made a muted gasp.

By the time Andrew stood, the rest of the team had gathered. The ground yawned away from him, but he didn’t have a chance to stagger before Nicky had grabbed him. Andrew didn’t have a chance to say anything before Nicky started blabbing happily.

“That was sloppy,” Kevin said, his voice more insistent to Andrew’s ears as he straightened. “We barely had it.”

“Oh, shut up, sour face,” Nicky told him. “Save your grouching for the ride back and stop spoiling our moment of glory.”

Matt rubbed at Kevin’s helmet, using all his inches of extra height to do it. “Seriously, would it kill you to smile when no one’s paying you to?”

Allison had joined them at the edge of the circle, wet hair pulled away from her drawn, red-eyed face. She met Andrew’s eyes for a second before Matt wrapped her in an embrace that pulled her off of her feet.

“Come on,” Dan said. “Let’s give these guys our condolences and get out of here.”

As soon as the team was off the court, Andrew stepped around the rest of them and went for the medical rooms he’d bypassed and noted on the way inside the building. Abby was sitting at the desk in the room, though she looked up when Andrew banged inside.

Her expression was complicated. Andrew ignored her entirely, heading straight for her bag on the floor in the corner.

“Andrew,” she said, and when he gave her a second of attention, he saw she was holding his bottle of medicine.

The sight of it gave his body a pinpoint focus, flipping a switch back on to _fight_ that had gone off with the final buzzer of the game. This was more his style of things – no racquet, just his hands.

Abby seemed to know that. She rounded the desk to get closer, but threw the bottle to Andrew rather than get in reach. He caught it, somehow.

Just like that, she lost his attention. He vaguely heard her leave the room, but he was focused on her bag again. Inside, as promised, was the bottle of Johnnie Walker.

He sat and put his back to the wall, removing a knife from one of his armbands to pry the bottle open. His other hand, seemingly with a mind of its own, groped at the cap of the pill bottle by his side. Some thin survival instinct stopped him from taking a handful, the extras rolling to the floor so that only one was pinched between his finger and thumb.

It wasn’t the survival instinct that made him pause with the pill pressed to his bottom lip. That was something else entirely.

His entire body was a sick, screaming ache that had nothing to do with the game. It was a race to see whether his brain or his stomach rebelled first. Kevin thought he could ship Andrew away and have a brand new Exy obsessive sent back at the end of a summer, but Andrew couldn’t see that happening. He could envisage a lot of possibilities, up to and including death – not necessarily his – but Kevin was never going to get what he wanted.

Underneath the drugs was dependence, and underneath that was anger. Or psychosis. Or nothing. It was hard to tell.

Feeling was overrated. Andrew took a swig of whiskey and drowned that shit out.

Wymack found him after a generous ten minutes, presumably to check Andrew was still conscious. He left the door open a crack behind him and took a spot on the bed, packet of cigarettes in one palm. The mere sight of Andrew’s addiction tended to bring out the habits in other addicts. He’d seen Aaron’s fingers twitch plenty of times when Andrew was the one popping a pill.

“I guess we did find out,” Wymack said, half to himself like he didn’t expect Andrew to listen. Andrew spared him a look, knowing instantly what he was referring to.

_So can you hold the line, or can’t you?_

_I guess we’ll find out._

“Don’t pat yourself on the back just yet,” Andrew told him. Wymack’s taste was for proving people they were wrong about his team, but no one was about to celebrate Andrew’s ability to survive an entire game sober.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. There were some teams who would throw him under the bus in a second for breaking the rules. They would be delighted.

“I’m not,” Wymack replied. “We’re just getting started.”

Andrew took another drink. The buzz from the alcohol was dragging him back from his body, a comfortable layer of numb that would last until well after the high hit him.

There was a scratch at the door, drawing Wymack’s attention. At his nod, Neil came inside, turning and pausing at the sight of Andrew.

He made a fine sight, he supposed. He still had a double-handed grip on the bottle which would no doubt impress Neil who didn’t drink.

“Abby and Allison went ahead to the bus,” Wymack said. “You can join them or wait here for everyone else.”

Neil took a stool beside the door, bag at his feet. He afforded Andrew another glance before he said to Wymack, “Why did you pay for stalls, Coach?”

Wymack shrugged a shoulder, faux-casual as ever. “Maybe I knew you’d need them one day.”

Andrew grinned around the glass mouth resting on his bottom lip. “Neil is a walking tragedy.” Wymack’s favourite sort.

“You’re a pretty pathetic sob story yourself,” Wymack told him with a quick penetrating look.

Andrew laughed. It sounded odd to his ears, not all the way there, like the high was getting to his brain before it took over his body. “I guess so, Coach. That reminds me. I’m staying with you this weekend.”

“I don’t remember invited you,” Wymack replied, unbothered. This was of course polite compared to Andrew’s usual practice of just breaking in. Not that he was aiming for polite, just for making a point.

“Kevin’s going to be so annoying to deal with after tonight.” Andrew screwed the top of the bottle back on once he’d located it in the plastic wrapper he’d peeled off. He shoved Abby’s things back into her bag and pushed it aside, climbing upright. The medicine he left. There was always more. “I can stab him again or I can stay with you. The choice is yours.”

“Andrew, I swear to God-”

“Bye, Coach.”

He was at the door when Neil’s arm jutted in front of him. Andrew halted and shot him a look.

Neil’s arm dropped and he said, “How did you do it? How did you know where to go?”

Andrew would have thought that answer should have been obvious to someone who probably slept with his notes on the opposition. “Coach said Watts always takes his penalty shots to the bottom corner. With the game riding on him he was bound to do the same.”

Neil stared at him with those fake brown eyes, surprise and disbelief written all over his face.

“But,” he said, and then nothing else. Andrew flashed him a grin and left.

 

* * *

 

Over the weekend, one of the few things Wymack said to Andrew was, “You need to make sure Neil gets new clothes.”

“Me?” Andrew asked, gesturing to himself.

The look Wymack gave him in response was dry. “At least I can trust that you’ll get it done. Recruit Nicky if you have to. Just get it done. Otherwise you’ll all be running a marathon next month.”

Nicky was, of course, delighted. He didn’t even need the threat. “He needs a phone, too. What kind of nineteen year old doesn’t have a cell phone?”

“This is Neil Josten we’re talking about,” Aaron muttered. He didn’t exactly sound delighted by their plans either. Straight boy didn’t like shopping, what a surprise.

Andrew was still caught up on Nicky’s comment. After a moment he said, “I’ll sort the phone.”

He was pretty sure their rabbit would do something interesting at the sight of a cell phone, and he wanted to see that happen.

They staged a kidnapping after practice, heading to the mall with Neil sandwiched in the back.

“Where are we,” Neil started, when he noticed them turning off of the usual road back to the dorms. Unlike a normal human, it hadn’t even taken one whole different turn for him to realise. “Oh.”

“Shopping!” Nicky chirped from the front seat. Neil didn’t reply.

In the mall, Neil dragged behind them like a truculent child, refusing to even look at any of the clothes. Nicky, his smile valiantly staying on, said, “At some point you’re going to have to try something on.”

“I could just not go,” Neil suggested.

“Shut up. You’re going,” Kevin told him abruptly. “The other teams want to get a look at you.”

“I don’t care. The only place they matter to me is on the court.”

“Don’t lose face, Neil,” Andrew said, dropping an ugly shirt on the ground. The hanger he heaved at Nicky, who unfortunately ducked. “You laughed at Riko on Kathy’s show. If you don’t go, he’ll say you’re too afraid to face him! For shame, Neil.”

Neil was, of course, terrified, and both of them knew it.

“Here,” Aaron butted in, shoving a piece of folded paper into Neil’s hands. “Take this before I forget it.”

Neil unfolded it, Nicky leaning over his shoulder to read himself before huffing. “Seriously, Aaron?”

“Dan asked me to get a list from Katelyn,” Aaron replied.

“Who are these people,” Neil asked, squinting at the list.

“They’re the single Vixens,” Aaron said.

“They’re all women,” Nicky muttered. “That doesn’t help us.”

“Nicky,” Neil warned.

Nicky stole the paper from Neil’s hand, screwing it into a ball. “Your ignorance is endearing, Neil. You’re nineteen and you’ve never looked at Allison’s tits? There’s no way you’re straight. You and I really need to sit down and talk about this sometime.”

Nicky was of course ignoring the fact that Neil never looked at men, either. Wishful thinking, perhaps. Then again, Andrew had seen the intensity with which Neil reacted to Kevin sometimes, too.

“You know what, I’m done here,” Aaron said, turning away. “I’ll be in the food court when you guys are finished.”

“Stop being a bad influence,” Kevin snapped at Nicky. “I am going to make him Court. It’ll be easier if he remains heterosexual. You know more than any of us how prejudiced people can be. Imagine the impact it would have on his career.”

Andrew almost laughed. _Imagine._

Nicky put his hands over Neil’s ears, or at least tried to. “You worry about Neil’s career. I’ll worry about his personal happiness. Come on, Kevin. Even you have to admit this is really weird.”

“Newsflash, Nicky: Neil isn’t normal!” Andrew chirped the obvious.

“This is beyond abnormal,” Nicky replied.

“I am standing right here,” Neil said blandly, “and I can here you.”

“Fine, fine,” Nicky huffed, releasing him. “Take a cheerleader if you want to.”

“I’m not taking anyone. I don’t even want to go to this thing.”

“Do you have any idea how pathetic is showing up stag to an event like this?”

“Are you bringing someone?” Neil asked, blinking. “What about Erik?”

“He’s in Germany,” Nicky replied. There was a touch of tightness around his eyes that Andrew doubted anyone else noticed. “Yeah, I’m bringing a date, but I’m not going to date the guy. I just want someone to go and have fun with. You know, fun? That thing people have sometimes? You two are impossible.”

Neil looked at Andrew, puzzled, but it was Kevin who said, “It’s none of your business.”

“Three,” Neil corrected after a moment. “Allison.”

Just like that, Nicky’s humour was dead in its grave. He muttered something indistinct and turned away to a rack further along, shaking his head. Neil watched him go before turning to look at the rack in front of him, absently shoving clothes around. After a moment he looked at Kevin and said, “Would you take her?”

Kevin and Andrew both stared at him. Who knew Neil would even consider an idea like that. Neil didn’t break Kevin’s gaze as he continued, “She and Seth were excited to go. It was all they could talk about when we had lunch together. Now she’s going to go and he won’t be there.”

“That’s a cheap way out,” Andrew told him. “Getting someone else to clean up behind your mess? Oh, Neil. Do better than that next time, won’t you? You’re boring when your tail’s between your legs.”

Neil scowled. “Fuck you. Your theory is still just that: a theory. When you prove it-”

“What, it’ll miraculously make it easier for you to look Allison in the eyes?” Andrew widened his eyes. “When I prove it, it puts a target on Seth’s back and a paintbrush in your hands. Rethink that a bit, would you?”

That was ignoring the fact that Allison already believed Andrew, and made the leap to Neil. Clearly Neil hadn’t realised that yet. He didn’t reply, staring back at Andrew with bright hatred in his eyes until Andrew laughed and left him.

He skirted past Nicky on his way out of the store. “I’m going to find a phone.”

Nicky had a collection of clothes slung over his arm. “You aren’t taking Neil with you?”

“Not a chance,” Andrew replied.

“You should really,” Nicky started, but he stopped when he realised Andrew was almost out of earshot. “Fine!”

Andrew got the cheapest phone he could find with the longest battery life, then took it down to the centre of the mall after texting Nicky his location. There was a hideous water feature made of fake marble that he perched on the edge of, peeling the packaging of the phone apart and prising the phone free. He set about setting it up with names and numbers – ones that Neil might actually call. His, for a start.

Nicky’s voice reached him before they did, but Andrew didn’t look up until he leaned over him and blurted, “What is that dinosaur? No one put money on a flip phone, Andrew. You ruined a really good pot.”

That had, of course, been partly Andrew’s point. There was nothing more fun than doing just that. “So sad.”

“You couldn’t have even found him a qwerty?”

“What for? Who is Neil going to text?” He snapped the phone shut and tossed it underarm to Neil, who caught it unerringly. Then, registering Andrew’s words, he froze.

“Um, me, for starters,” Nicky said, voice going absent as his attention turned to Neil.

“What.” The word broke out of Neil’s mouth, so flat it didn’t bear even a passing resemblance to a question. He uncurled his fist and started at the phone like it was some kind of alien thing that he couldn’t wait to drop. Whatever was happening in his head was a trainwreck, though you had to look close to see it. At least, at first.

It took over. Andrew watched him like an interesting science experiment. It was always different seeing trauma as a spectator.

“Neil,” Nicky said. “ _Neil.”_

That caught Neil’s attention. His eyes jerked to Nicky’s, face white. He swallowed tightly and shoved the phone in Nicky’s direction. “No.”

Nicky jerked up his hands to ward the phone away, but his voice was gentle when he said, “Neil, we kind of need you to hold onto that. We need a way to get in touch with you this year.”

“You have this way of making people want to kill you,” Andrew drawled.

Nicky winced but didn’t look away from Neil. “What if Coach needs to talk to you about something or Riko’s freaky fans start causing trouble? Last year got really crazy toward the end, and this year isn’t off to a good start. That’s our just-in-case. You’ll make us all feel better if we know we can find you.”

And wasn’t that just Neil’s worst nightmare. He was in survival mode, and that meant not giving a shit about making his teammates-for-now feel better. “I can’t. Nicky, I-”

“Okay, okay.” Nicky took Neil’s white-knuckled fist in both of his, letting him hand the phone over. “We’ll figure it out.”

Neil, still shaken, took the shopping bags from Nicky’s arm. Andrew stole the car keys from Nicky’s nearest pocket and held them in the air between himself and Neil.

Neil reached for them, but when his fingers sealed around them – careful not to touch Andrew’s, of course – Andrew didn’t let go. He leaned close. “Hey, Neil. Honesty looks awful on you.”

Neil ripped the keys away hard enough to leave marks on Andrew. That was enough to make Andrew laugh as he walked away.

“Oh God,” Nicky said once Neil was out of earshot, scrubbing his face. “What the fuck was that? I did not sign up for this.”

“Neil has issues,” Andrew told him. “Didn’t you realise?”

“That’s fucked up,” Nicky stated the obvious. “He needs this, you’re right. He could die and how would we even know?”

A dead body wouldn’t call them, of course. Nicky seemed to overlook that.

Andrew held out his hand. “Here.”

“What are you going to do?” Nicky asked, though he didn’t pause in handing the phone over.

Andrew shoved it in his pocket. “Leave it to me.”

Nicky didn’t seem to find that comforting, but Andrew hadn’t expected him to.

 

* * *

 

At their next night practice, Andrew swung into the locker room as Kevin pulled on his shirt. Pity, really.

“Get out,” he told Kevin. He wasn’t smiling – he’d skipped his last dose, riding the crash.

“What the fuck,” Kevin began, but he paused when Andrew held up Neil’s new phone. “Are you serious?”

“Do I not look serious?” Andrew inquired. “Get out.”

Kevin obeyed, though he was shaking his head and muttering under his breath. Andrew straddled the centre bench, dropping the phone on the wood between his knees, and waited.

It didn’t take long. Neil tumbled out of the bathrooms mostly dressed and stopped at the unfamiliar sight of Andrew, his eyes crossing the room, finding the phone, and then jerking up to Andrew’s face like he was afraid to look.

“A man can only have so many issues,” Andrew informed him, which was technically true, although perhaps a little hypocritical. At least Andrew wasn’t opposed to modern technology.

“I don’t need a phone,” Neil replied, not moving from the doorway.

“Who needs one more than you do this year?” Andrew pulled his own phone from his pocket, flipping them both open side by side. In Neil’s phone he searched his own number in the speed dial and let his ring.

He waited until he saw Neil hear the lyrics, taking a little satisfaction from the sharp realisation on his face. Then Neil stomped over and sat facing Andrew, reaching for Andrew’s phone and rejecting the call with clumsy-strong hands.

“You’re not funny,” he said.

“Neither are you,” Andrew told him. Neil was a lot of things, starting with stupid, but he wasn’t a comedian. “You put a noose around you neck and handed the loose end to Riko. I distinctly remember saying I would watch your back. Give me one good reason why you’d make that difficult for me.”

“I survived for eight years because no one could find me.”

Well, he’d gone on national TV and shot himself in the foot there, well and truly. “That’s not why.”

“Are we doing the honesty thing again?” Neil demanded.

“Do we need to?” Andrew took his phone from Neil. “You start.”

Neil touched his phone in front of him like it was poisonous, spinning it in place. “You know, most parents give their children phones so they can keep track of them throughout the day. I had one because of the people my father worked with. My parents wanted to know they could reach me if the worst should happen. ‘Just in case’.” He was repeating Nicky’s words back, Andrew thought.

“When I ran away, I kept the phone. I saw my parents die, but I kept thinking maybe I was wrong. Maybe one day they’d call and say it was an act. They’d say I could come home and things would be fine. But the only time it rang it was that man demanding I bring him back the money. I haven’t had a phone since. I shouldn’t have one now. Who am I supposed to call?”

_Fuck, what a sob story._ “Nicky, Coach, the suicide hotline, I don’t care.”

“I’m remembering why I don’t like you,” Neil told him, tone conversational.

“I’m surprised you forgot in the first place.”

“Maybe I didn’t.” He scooted the phone towards Andrew. “There has to be a better way.”

“You could occasionally grow a spine. I know it’s a difficult concept for someone whose knee-jerk reaction is to run away at the first sign of trouble, but try it sometime. You might actually like it.”

“What I’d like is to put this phone through your teeth.”

“See, that’s more interesting.” It was honest, at least.

“I’m not here for your entertainment,” Neil said.

“But, as expected, you are talented enough to multitask. Question for you, Neil. Do I look dead to you?” He pointed at his face and waited for an answer, but shockingly Neil didn’t oblige him. “Here.”

He indicated Neil closer, and flipped his phone open, pressing a button. After a second, the hum of music cut in – an answer of a sort to Andrew’s ring tone from Neil’s phone. Neil stared down at it, unmoving.

“Your phone is ringing,” Andrew prompted. “You should answer it.”

After another moment, Neil picked it up and opened it, pressing it to his ear.

“Your parents are dead, you are not fine, and nothing is going to be okay,” Andrew told him. “This is not news to you. But from now until May you are still Neil Josten and I am still the man who said he would keep you alive.”

Neil was still staring at the bench between them, sightless, but Andrew had his attention now.

“I don’t care if you use this phone tomorrow. I don’t care if you never use it again. But you are going to keep it on you because one day you might need it.” Andrew used one finger to raise Neil’s chin, forcing their eyes to meet. “On that day you’re not going to run. You’re going to think about what I promised you and you’re going to make the call. Tell me you understand.”

Neil looked back, his face a mass of emotion. That had to be exhausting. He managed a nod, at least.

Andrew let him go, closing his phone and cutting off the call. Neil did the same, staring at it for a long moment before finally leaning down and putting it in the pocket of his bag. Andrew doubted Neil meant to meet his gaze when he straightened, but he didn’t seem to be able to help it. Andrew had no idea what he was looking for – honesty, perhaps.

Andrew watched him back for a long moment, looking for certainty, or something like it. He wasn’t sure that was what he got. Neil, mask stripped away, was a more difficult read than he should have been.

Andrew straightened. “If you’re done having issues, take your turn. Kevin is probably fuming waiting on you.”

Neil considered for a second and then asked, “Why did the Oakland PD call you?”

Typical. Andrew said, amused, “Right for the throat. Maybe not so spineless after all.”

Neil just watched him until Andrew continued. “Children’s Services is opening an investigation into one of my foster fathers. Pig Higgins knew I lived with them, so he called me looking for testimony.”

“But you won’t help him,” Neil surmised.

Andrew flicked a hand. “Richard Spear is an uninteresting but relatively harmless human being. They won’t find anything to pin on him.” _Relatively_ , because blindness was dangerous in and of itself.

“You sure? Your reaction was a little extreme for a misunderstanding.”

Andrew tilted his head. “I don’t like that word.”

Neil paused, and then said, “Extreme?”

“Misunderstanding,” Andrew corrected.

“It’s an odd word to have a grudge against,” Neil said, like he knew anything. Liars as talented as him grew up expecting to be believed, Andrew supposed.

“You don’t have any room to judge other people’s problems,” Andrew reminded him, standing up to leave.

When they got in to the dorm afterward Neil and Kevin had worn each other down, Nicky stirred in his bed and muttered, “Did he take it?”

“Yes,” Andrew replied. “Now it’s your problem to deal with.”

“What’s my problem?”

“His little phone issue. Fix it. I don’t care how.”

“Jeez, like I’m a therapist,” Nicky grumbled into his pillow. “Fine. I got it.”


End file.
